The Artist
by FailedGuardianOfPandora'sBox
Summary: Nico Di Angelo is deep in the depths of his depression. He see's no way out, all he wants is to die. To end the pain and finally be with Bianca. But what will happen when an unlikely saviour walks into his life, messing with his feelings and his perspective on life. The truth will be discovered, but will Nico finally get the happy ending he never thought he deserved?- Fic Version
1. My Destruction

_**AN: Hey guys! So, a little while ago I wrote a poem called The Artist. I promised I would write it up into a Fic, so, here it is! My original plan, when I got the idea, was to write this into a Fic anyway. However it originally started as a poem, I would also like to say that this Fic will not be much different from the poem.**_

_**I will print the poem here for anyone who hasn't had the unlucky misfortune to read it:**_

**The Artist -Poem**

**I knew a boy who liked to draw, **

**He drew pictures nobody saw. **

**He was more artistic late at night, **

**In the bathroom, out of sight. **

**He kept a secret nobody knew, **

**He didn't tell a soul and his gallery grew. **

**His drawings were different, no paper or pen, **

**But needed a bandage now and again. **

**We stood by the river, under the stars, **

**He rolled up his sleeves and showed me his scars. **

**He felt embarrassed and looked down at his shoes, **

**Then I rolled up my sleeves, and whispered, **

**"I draw to..." **

**He looked up from his shoes with tears in his eyes, **

**and the walls broke down and tears fell as he cried. **

**I watched the tears spill from his eyes as they pooled in my own, **

**No point in hiding it, our secret is blown. **

**He released a heart breaking cry, and fell to the ground, **

**I knelt beside him, while in his tears he drowned, **

**I gathered him tight, into my arms, **

**and swore to protect him, keep him from harm. **

**As we sat there together, beneath the stars, **

**I kissed his head; whispered, while stroking his scars... **

**"Everything will be alright..."**

**He laughed without humour, wiped tears from his eyes.**

**"It won't be, you know. Don't tell me lies."**

**Tears stung my eyes at the pain in his words.**

**Nobody deserves to ever be this hurt.**

**I squeezed him against me and thought to myself,**

**I have to help him, keep him from himself...**

**The Artist**

**Chapter 1**

_Depression is a prison where you are both the suffering prisoner and the cruel jailer. - Dorothy Rowe_

I lurch forward in my bed, feeling the cold sweat along the back of my neck. I cling on to the nightmare, needing desperately to see her face. One face, one name. The one name that haunts me. The one face that appears perpetually in my nightmares.

Bianca.

I thrust my hand out to my left, sitting up further, and fumble for the table beside my bed in the relentless dark. My hand clasps onto the object of my deepest desires and I sigh. The hilt of the blade fits perfectly and smoothly into the palm of my slick, sweating hand, the metal of the blade flashing mockingly in the unforgiving darkness.

I stroke the blade lightly with the index finger of my right hand, caressing the weapon of my own destruction.

With a smooth, practiced stroke I bring the blade across the pale, mutilated flesh of my wrist. I relish in the feel of the sting, the hot burn, closing my eyes and allowing the feel of the self inflicted pain to wash over me.

I look down lazily in my euphoric state to see the sticky, red blood begin to spread and drip from my arm. The sight makes me cringe and I'm pulled forcefully from my temporary escape. Stumbling to the bathroom, I mull over the previous nights. All of which followed this same routine: wake up, cut, bleed, clean off the blood.

It's always the same, I think the routine helps.

I turn on the cold tap and glance at the mirror above the sink. The heavy bags beneath my eyes are no shock to me, not now, after all this time. They'd also become part of the routine, sleepless nights I mean.

I hold out my arm underneath the running water and watch in awe as the crimson red fluid tints the pure, running water, swirling beautifully before disappearing down the drain.

I grapple around in the cupboard in search of the bandages I normally keep there. Finding them, I absentmindedly apply the flawless, white cotton to my wound, my mind drifting to thoughts of the day ahead. Smiling, talking, acting. To my friends, I'm fine. If only they knew.

Actually, it's better they don't know. I know for sure I wouldn't be able to stand the looks of pity and disappointment in their eyes.

So I try to heal myself, I tell myself I don't need them. Or anyone else for that matter. It's better for me and everyone if I keep my secret what it is, a secret.

The day they find out is the day I die, and I'm going to make dam sure it stays that way.

I walk back to my room, stroking the bandages of my arm distractedly while searching for a clean shirt.

How can I abruptly go back to normal, as if nothing had happened? Habit, routine even. If I act normal, go about my business, nobody will notice. If I keep up the act, even when I'm alone, it makes it easier to act to others.

I pull on the cruel smirk I'd taken to wear around everybody except myself, whilst I analyse my reflection in the mirror.

Dark jeans, dark t-shirt, dark hair, dark eyes and pale, sallow skin.

I chuckle mirthlessly, remembering one of the only times I'd genuinely laughed in a very long time.

**-:-:-:-**

It was the middle of the summer, almost every camper was splashing around in the lake, the others lay beside it absorbing the scorching summer's heat. I sat further away from everyone else, peacefully observing the playful antics of modern teens.

"Are you wearing that jacket again?"

I tensed at the sound of his voice but turned towards his sea green eyes despite myself.

"What do you mean?" I asked innocently, although knowing already what he was going to say.

"It's really hot, Nico. And your wearing a jacket. And it's black." He said in exasperation, as if this should explain everything. "Honestly, Nico, are you not hot?"

I pursed my lips, shaking my head slightly while rolling my eyes, quite a feat if you think about it, "Nope."

"Are you su-"

"Yes Percy I'm fine!" Seeing the slightly hurt expression on his face I tried out a bit of humour, "Besides, I always wear black."

At this statement Percy's eyes had sparked with a mix of humour and mischief. He flashed a smile at me before stepping forward, "Oh yeah, I forgot," he started to strut along in front of me. Hand on his hip, girlish pout, smouldering eyes. The full on supermodel walk.

For the first time in forever, I chuckle.

"Black in the spring. Black in the summer. Black in the fall*. Black in the winter." He continued. And I was laughing, really laughing.

I looked up into his eyes to see a refreshing smile gracing his coral pink lips.

There was no doubt about it, he was beautiful. He knew I once loved him, but he also knew I was over it. At least that's what he thought. To be honest, I'm not even sure myself.

"Nico," he chuckled, "I haven't seen you smile, let alone laugh, like that in years."

He tilted his head to the side, scrutinizing me, then shook his head. "It's good to have you back, we were beginning to worry about you,"

**-:-:-:-**

I shake my head, pulling myself from the memory. Of course, that's all it was, a memory.

With one last look at my reflection, I sigh in frustration, pulling on my (also dark) aviator jacket.

Grabbing my sword, I walk out of my cabin, thinking I'll go for a walk to clear my head. Maybe sit by that same lake, reminisce about the past.

I walk past all of the quiet, peaceful cabins and glance up at the still starry sky. Damn insomnia.

My 'Midnight walks' had become a regular occurrence in the past few years. I could never sleep a full night. Not since Bianca.

In truth, I think it began long before that, even.

Sometimes I don't sleep at all.

I make it to the lake and take a seat in the sand. Using the tip of my sword, I draw random patterns and images in the slightly damp powder.

Lifting my head I scan my surroundings. The cabins, the mess hall, the amphitheatre, Thalia's pine and the big house. I squint at the house and it's bright shining lights.

No, I was right. The lights _are_ on. At this time of the night? Or is it the morning now? I shake my head, it's probably nothing. I learnt long ago to stick to myself where possible.

I continue to watch the horizon, staring thoughtlessly as I think about everything and nothing. My mind swirls with thoughts, but at the same time it's blank.

Hours later the sun starts to rise, lighting up the surrounding, vibrant colours of camp with its warm orange glow and rousing grumpy teenagers from their amicable slumbers.

I rub my eyes, sighing as I stand to face the on coming day.

**...**

_***I'm English, I would've put Autumn but I know the characters are American so I made the effort to put Fall instead.**_

_**AN: Hope you liked this first Chapter, it's always hard for me starting off, but I find the chapters after the first a lot easier to write. So, hopefully, the chapters after this should come quicker. I'd also like to say that the scene from the poem will be featured in the story, most likely exactly the same but with more detail.**_

_**One more thing, I wanted this to be a Solangelo Fic, that was always the plan. Will was going to be his saviour, his 'Solace', if you will. But that would mean, to fit with the plot, that Will Solace will never have been at camp. I was wondering what you thought about that. (Nico's saviour is supposed to be a new camper, however this doesn't need to be the case) So tell me what you think, I can do either option and mold it into the plot.**_

_**One last thing, I wanted to add a quote to each chapter but I wasn't sure if I should put it at the beginning, like in this chapter, or if I should interpret a quote into the chapter. What do you think?**_

_**That's all.**_

_**Habitually yours,**_

_**FailedGuardian**_


	2. Two Sides of Me

_**AN: Oh my gods, 5 favourites and 10 follows? On the first chapter?! That's amazing! (Well for me at least) Thank you! I'm smiling so much right now. :D **_

_**Anyway, I told you the next few chapters would start coming quicker. Besides, reviews, story followers and story favourites are food for thought. In other words, your reviews and favourites and stuff gave me the boost to write quicker, soooo... smiles all round :D **_

_**Thanks to **_Lilianne Chase, CreCra_** and **_green angel01_** for reviewing, Also **_Lilianne Chase_** and **_CreCra_** for their idea's for Will's character. **_

_**Review Responses: **_

_**Lilianne Chase: Of course, I'd be upset if Hidden wasn't a priority :) I was a bit apprehensive about it as well. I wasn't sure how much the story would differ from the poem and how the idea would go down with readers. I wanted to put my experiences into the story, to see if I could somehow help someone, in someway. I was unsure of what peoples reactions would be. I wasn't going to do it at first. But I felt like it was something I should do. Does that make sense? **_

_**CreCra: Thanks for your help :) I loved the idea that 'Sometimes saviours go unnoticed at first', I might maybe use it, if that's okay? I'm not entirely sure what to do yet, but Will isn't appearing hitherto. So I'll decide nearer the time. it doesn't matter much, it will only tweak the plot slightly. **_

_**green angel01: I'm so glad you liked it, at first I was kind of worried that people wouldn't like this. But I took a risk and it looks like it paid off. Thanks for the advice on the quote, I will do that. :) **_

_**-:-:-:- **_

_**And, just to clarify for anyone who has read BoO, this is set after the giant war (BoO). But... The whole thing with Will and Nico never happened in my story, okay? However, the scene with Percy did. That's what Nico means when he says: 'He knew I once loved him, but he also knew I was over it. At least that's what he thought. To be honest, I'm not even sure myself.' about Percy in chapter 1 of this Fic. **_

_**-:-:-:- **_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing, everything belongs to the wonderful Rick Riordan. ...Please don't sue me. **_

_**-:-:-:- **_

_**Now that awful disclaimer is out of the way, let us get this show on the road... **_

_Previously in The Artist... _

_I continue to watch the horizon, staring thoughtlessly as I think about everything and nothing. My mind swirls with thoughts, but at the same time it is blank. _

_Hours later, the sun begins to rise, lighting up the surrounding vibrant colours of camp with it's warm, amber glow. Rousing grumpy teenagers from their amicable slumbers. _

_I rub my tired eyes, sighing as I pull that cruel smirk on my face and stand to face the oncoming day. _

**_The Artist _**

**_Chapter 2 _**

_And what still shocks me, is how often the thing that hurts you, looks like the thing that helps you._

Slowly curtains begin to open and sleepy heads start poking out of cabin doors. I flop down on to the grass and watch the grouchy teenagers squinting at the bright, morning light of spring.

Spring.

The worst season for me. The season of generation, regeneration, the fickle circle of life. Life. The meaning of which we humans are obsessed with. But what's the point to the obsession? What changes once we realise the truth? Nothing. We carry on, we keep playing this frivolous game of life. Following societies constant but undefined rules.

Work through school, then college, get a degree. Get married, have children. Work till your old age. Live the unreachable, perfect life. Then, once you have checked off the invisible protocol list, die happy. With no regrets. With all your puzzle pieces in place.

But, honestly, does that happen? Do we get that life? Ever?

I shake my head, my dark hair falling across my furrowed brow. I hate mornings, they make me over think everything. There's something about the sun rising, indicating the start of a new day, that makes me take a look at my perspective on life. It's... Irritating. The perspective I have is... well I prefer not to talk about my perspective.

The Apollo kids are the first to appear out of their cabin, they always are. They're the first to rise to their fathers brilliant rays of light. They all look like clones of their father, but with subtle differences in the gene pool. You'd only notice them if you spend your existence observing others - sinking into the background of life - like I do. The godly gene is mostly dominant when it comes to demigods. There's about an 80% chance you'll end up looking more like you're godly parent than you're mortal parent.

I'm watching, like any other day, as they go about their normal routines. I'm almost about to get up and move to a quieter spot when a pair of sparkling blue eyes meet mine. These blue eyes are so much brighter than any other Apollo kids. For a single second, a second that knocks my breath straight from my lungs, my eyes meet his. One glance, one glance which feels like a look into my soul. A look that tells me he knows. He knows everything. And I don't know how. And I want to tell myself that I'm just being paranoid. I need to. But I can't.

Because the look was too genuine, too pitiful, too... Angry? Empathetic? Why should he be angry? How should he know how I feel?

I blink and shake my head again. When I turn back to look for those eyes, they're gone. He's gone.

I need to know what he knows. How much he knows.

But first I need to think. I need to breath. I need space.

"Get your S**t together Nico. You're outside for gods sake! Can't get more space than that."

But I feel like I'm gradually being compressed. The sweet smelling air is pressing down on me. I can't breath and I need space.

I stumble to my feet, and run. I run until my lungs burn and my muscles ache. I can't breathe, every breath is like a stab wound to the chest. But I accept the pain. Cherish it even. What's life without pain?

Eventually, I make it to the top of Half-Blood hill and throw myself down beneath the tree. Thalia's Tree. Of course, she's not there anymore, but I still feel like I'm not alone. I need to be alone. I need it. I can't be seen falling apart. I'm strong, demigod's are strong. I can't break down. No-one can know. Ever.

I'm hyperventilating. My breath comes out in short puffs that attempt to choke back my panic. I lean against Thalia's tree and stare down at camp while I endeavour to control my breathing and collect my thoughts.

He knows. He knows something. And he's going to tell everyone.

_No he won't. Will he?_

He will. He will. He has.

_He hasn't. _

He's told someone hasn't he? I'm even more of a freak now.

_No, you're not. Everything's fine. _

I can't do this. I can't face everyone.

_Yes. You can. _

I can't. I'm a disgrace. They'll hate me more than ever.

_What about Hazel? Do you think she'll hate you? _

Yes. She'll hate me. I've lost a sister again, haven't I?

_No, you haven't. Everything is fine. _

I've lost another sister.

I clasp onto my head, a hand either side, and clutch onto the stands right at the roots. I squeeze my eyes tight and hold back the tears I know are about to fall.

Bianca.

Now Hazel.

What have I done? What's so repulsive about me that I push everyone away. I wasn't enough that I had to be from another century. I also had to be gay to. And have this... this thing. The monster inside me.

But there is no monster.

I am the monster. I have become the monster.

My wrist is pressed against the side of my face and I can feel a stickiness spreading there. The red fluid leaking through the bandage is exuding onto my face. Is it sick I find it calming? The pain and the thick, scarlet blood is all I know. All I've come to know.

My release, the way I've learnt to suppress the mental pain. Strange right? I suppress mental pain with physical pain. It only lasts a while though. Eventually the release ends and I'm left feeling worse than ever before. I'm left to cut deeper and harsher in order to make my fix last longer. Tearing deeper into my skin each time to extend the time I can distract myself from the pain.

I don't know how to survive without it anymore.

I'm an addict. I can't let go. Not on my own.

But I have to do this on my own, there's no other choice.

No one can know.

I open my eyes and lower my hands, staring off in an almost trance like state. I hardly notice the strands of the tangled mess laying across my palms and curling around my fingers from pulling my hair too hard.

Still staring down at camp, my right hand strokes along the Stygian Iron blade. I sigh in contentment. It's strange that the thing that causes me harm is also the thing that brings me serenity.

_Don't do it. _

A whisper. I hear it, I confirm and accept it. But I push it back. God, I don't want to. I want to listen to it so much.

My hand comes to rest on the hilt and I run my finger along the intricate designs. The variation of skulls and human faces contorted in pain and agony. And, just below the blade, a screech owl. One of my fathers sacred animals.

_Don't do it, Nico. _

My fingers wrap around the hilt of the heavy blade. I'm hesitant, as always. But it's out of my control. I pick up the blade and feel the familiar weight of it in my hand. It always feels heavier when I...

_NICO! _

The voice is getting more intense, it's almost screaming at me. But I'm too far gone.

Aren't I?

My hand hesitates around the blade, my fingers twitch. I want to let go. I desperately do.

I don't want to do this.

But, still, raise the blade up and bring it carefully down to my wrist.

_STOP! NICO, NO! _

It's a scream, a scream usually pushed back and ignored. Yet this time it's a familiar voice. A voice I'd never wish to hold so much pain, so much anguish.

Bianca.

The voice shakes me right down to my broken core. Tears roll down my cheeks. _Bianca_.

Her voice, it sounds as if it came straight from the depths of the earth. And I need it. I need it to pull free. I blink and look down at the blade inches from my wrist. I drop it just to the right of me and press my body further against the tree. Tears continue to spill down my face, but I'm okay.

I managed to break out. I pulled free.

I smile transiently at the rarity. If I can pull myself out once, I'm already getting better. Aren't I?

I relax against the tree, taking a few deep breaths. I become fully aware of the strands in my hand and close my eyes for a breathe moment.

I'm going to end up bald. I laugh dismally to myself at my poor attempt at humour.

With one last look at camp, I disappear into the shadows surrounding me.

_**Will's POV **_

I've rarely seen him around camp. He isn't one to socialize. But on the scarce occasions I do see him he's wearing that gods damn jacket. Every single time.

He never smiles, when he does it's clearly forced. Apparently it isn't too clear, though. Considering me being the only one to actually observe it.

Nobody has noticed his deterioration. Maybe they have, maybe they're choosing to ignore it. Isn't that what our loved ones always do? They subconsciously choose not to notice. But not because they don't care. They just can't stand to see it.

But I notice. I noticed how he always has a bandage around his wrist, the edge carefully, almost invisibly, poking out of the sleeve of his jacket. His cheeks starting to hollow, he's muscular but gaunt. The shadows beneath his eyes have grown.

I notice.

But his eyes are what catch my attention. What always catch my attention.

Eyes as dark and empty as a black hole. But eyes that still manage to sparkle at times. With tears, with occasional happiness. The happiness is sporadic. It hardly ever comes around. Even when it does it's never for himself. Always for others.

But three days ago, when I caught his eyes, I couldn't think of anyone more beautiful.

His eyes held the stories of the world. They held anger, happiness, surprise, pain and sorrow. So much sorrow. They tell so much of his story. They tell how much he's survived through.

And he's survived through a lot.

But in that moment, he looked afraid, scared. Scared of me?

No. He must be scared of what I know. He must know I know. Is it obvious on my face?

I thought I could hide it. I thought I was hiding it.

He looked so scared, my heart ached for him. It still does now. I couldn't, and can't, stand having put that look on his face. I watched him a moment, but I couldn't stand it.

I ran.

I ran all the way to the beach.

And it's the most cowardly thing I've ever done.

As now I'm lying in my bed, wondering about the whereabouts of Nico Di Angelo. Because he disappeared and hasn't come back in three days.

**-:-:-:-**

_**AN: There's something you must understand about my Nico in this story, okay? He's slightly OOC and might be more so later in the story. But in my version he is breaking down so much. He's a mental mess. He feels like he can't tell anyone anything because he's supposed to be strong and scary. He's a son of Hades. The ghost king haunted by his own ghosts. He's stubborn yet weak. **_

_**On one side of him, he knows what he's doing is wrong. Yet on the other side, he see's no problem with mutilating himself and compressing his feelings - dealing with them on his own. In fact, he thinks it's better than any other option. But he has that voice. His voice. Yelling at him to stop. To look at what he's doing. **_

_**And he's scared. So unbelievably scared. He's scared of what he's become. He looks in the mirror everyday and laments for the person he used to be. He misses the colour in his cheeks; the sparkle in his eyes. The hope that maybe things will get better, even if they no longer have a mother. Because everything was fine back then. He had Bianca. But even that had to be taken from him. Because that's the unfairness of life. **_

_**A lot of the time he's fighting an endless battle of conscious. This is shown in this chapter and will be shown more in the future. I mentioned he has to sides to himself (but do not confuse him for a schizophrenic), the side that is trying to tell him to stop is the lines in italics. But don't think him crazy for the thoughts he has in his head. For don't we all have them? The whole of our lives we're having an endless conversation with ourselves. His conversation just takes up a large portion of his thought space. The battle wins out over every other part of him until it becomes the only thing he can focus on.**_

_**-:-:-:- **_

_**I felt like I needed to clear this up for you so you don't, I don't know, hate my Nico automatically. **_

_**-:-:-:- **_

_**Kind of a filler chapter, sorry about that. I just kind of wanted to show you what Nico is like when he breaks down. To be honest, I'm still not happy with it. I haven't quite done it justice. Even if you've experienced it it's a difficult thing to describe and explain. **_

_**I gave you a bit of Will though ;D **_

_**Also, just a warning, this story will contain a lot of Philosophy and deep thought. So beware. **_

_**And, I was thinking, there will be quite a bit of morbidity in this story- probably some swearing to- so, should I change the rating? What do you think? I appreciate your opinions a lot :) **_

_**Moreover, at the moment this story only has one genre (Hurt/Comfort), what should the other genre be? Or should I wait until we're further into the story? **_

_**Love your opinions. Remember, reviews bring me happiness and happiness is my greatest inspiration to write. When you review it makes me want to write faster. :) **_

_**Naturally yours, **_

_**FailedGuardian X **_

_**P.S. If there's a quote at the beginning of the chapter and it doesn't say either anonymous or a name, it means it's something I've said.**_


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